


Come Heavy or Don't Come at All

by squibli



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Blood and Violence, Choking, Drift Bond, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Ghost Drifting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sexual Tension, also newt's fashion choices make an appearance, hermann is a bamf who knows no fear, kinkshame newt 2k18, lots of choking, lots of mental stuff going on, please get my gay scientist out of the basement, sex while ghost drifting?, talking while ghost drifting? its a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 12:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14332860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squibli/pseuds/squibli
Summary: Leave it to Newt’s shameless predilection for violent sex to bring him back around.Alternatively: the one where Hermann literally chokes the Precursors out of Newt.





	Come Heavy or Don't Come at All

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot how much the gay science nerds meant to me until I saw Uprising and it broke my gay heart. Pacrim 3 better save the world and moisturize my skin. Also don't quote me on all the science here.

“Just let me talk to him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Doc. He’s been restrained for a reason.”

“If I can prove he’s still in there, would you proceed as planned or would you spare him?”

“Depends on the results. He’s gonna try and use you, you know.”

“Well, I’m going to use him.”

 

*****************

 

Exactly how much Pentecost knew about their relationship was a guessing game, and Hermann was unwilling to tell him more than was strictly necessary. Discussing his sexual history with someone who gave Lambert doe eyes every time they passed in the hall wasn’t on his to do list. Hermann may have picked up on some of Newt’s “fuck it” attitude while in the drift, but there were things he preferred to keep to himself. He had a plan to see if Newt really was still buried in there, in his own head, and the less his superiors knew, the better. He had a feeling they’d never let him near Newt otherwise. _Go big or go home_ , Hermann found himself thinking. It was one of the things Newt always said before diving recklessly into something dangerous.

Pentecost signaled to someone to have the door to the old K-Science lab unlocked, and the loud clang of the metal bars retracting made Hermann even more aware of the fact that they never intended to let Newt out of here. What used to be his home had been repurposed into his prison. Hermann hadn’t known they’d retrofitted locking mechanisms into the door, hadn’t even been down here himself in years. Pentecost pushed the door open and hurried Hermann inside, as if afraid that Newt would scurry out if he left it open too long. Hermann felt rather than heard the heavy door lock behind him and the sound of retreating footsteps followed. He found himself in desperate need of a cigarette.

Hermann crossed the room, noting the layer of dust still covering everything just like he’d left it. The room was still lit in the same sickly yellow glow. His blackboards still had all the equations he’d been working on when he left, not long after Newt himself had left. He heard Newt sniffle somewhere behind him. _Cigarette first._ Hermann jerked back the latch on the lab’s one grimy window and pushed it open a crack. The fresh air was welcome after the stale smell of preservative and kaiju blood and chalk that permeated the space they used to share. Hermann found he didn’t enjoy this lab like he once did. When Newt left for the private sector Hermann transferred to a smaller work area because Newt's absence made the giant K-Science lab unbearable. Too much empty space for just Hermann and his thoughts. The window let in a stream of reddish light that streaked across the floor, catching dust motes suspended in midair. He turned, studying his former lab partner.

Pentecost had had Newt restrained to one of the high-backed metal benches scattered around the lab. The benches offered armrests for a semblance of convenience, if one squinted hard enough, and Hermann remembered many nights spent napping on and off while trying to work a problem. They weren’t what he’d call comfortable. A musty stack of books and research papers sat next to Newt, undisturbed. Newt himself was all jitters and uneven breathing. His tie was loose and his normally sleek black jacket was rumpled. Newt was having drift withdrawals by now, and his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It made his shirt opaque and Hermann studied the way the fabric made his tattoos look like impressionist paintings. His black jeans clung to his legs, dirt and dust covering the knees. Dried blood cracked around his nose and mouth, as well as on his exposed forearms where his head had come to rest after Lambert had incapacitated him. Hermann thought the look suited him. Newt always looked best when he was a bit haphazard. He cursed the Precursors for turning him into such a caricature; the real Newt would never have worn such proper things. The kaiju biologist preferred his worn leather and ripped denim, and so did Hermann. He fished his pack of cigarettes out of his sweater impatiently.

He had taken up smoking a few years ago when the stress of filling not just his role but Newt’s autopsies and biological research as well had started to push him too far. He had become irritable and moody. He knew objectively that smoking was bad, that it was unhealthy, but he couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. Just could not give a shit. He knew he got it from Newt. He wondered exactly what Newt had gotten from him.

Hermann put a cigarette to his lips and dug his lighter out of his pocket, leaning on his cane as he lit up. Newt suddenly stilled, the silence deafening.

“Didn’t know you smoked, Herms. Hope you realize that shit is lethal,” he drawled, smiling sweetly. His voice was dark, raspy. The amused look on his face sent not unpleasant chills down Hermann’s spine. _Maybe this won’t be as difficult as I thought._ He found himself itching to hurt the things wearing Newt, or really maybe just Newt himself. His cigarette trembled in his pale fingers.

“There are worse things that I’m sure will get me in the end,” he mumbled. White knuckled, he gripped his cane and limped closer. Newt sat very still now, no tremors, with that smug look on his face. He leaned forward very slowly and inhaled the smoke drifting around Hermann, dark eyelashes fluttering closed and a shaky moan easing out from his bloody lips. His hands tightened on the armrests, fingers drumming impatiently.

Hermann watched intently as he took another drag. “Would you like one?”

Newt grinned. “Thought you’d never offer, my man. The guys in here with me, they love that shit. All that sin, they’re regular hedonists.”

_Because of course you would know exactly what sin is._

Hermann smiled and held his cigarette down at Newt’s level. Newt looked momentarily confused, then pushed out his cracked lip in a pout.

“What the fuck, Hermann? This is what I get? Not good enough for a little pity?” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “ ** _He thought you were good enough for a pity fuck once, you broken, degenerate piece of shit_** -”

Hermann cracked his hand across Newt’s face before he could stop himself. The split in his lip reopened and bled freely. _Just like old times._ Hermann’s palm stung, blood rushing to his fingertips in an angry wave. He secured his cigarette between his lips before grabbing Newt’s chin and roughly twisting his head back around to face him. Newt grinned, gums tinged red.

“You really think you can get me back, Herms? I don’t think that’s what they want,” he rasped out, swallowed thickly, then, “They want me, and sometimes I think they want you, too.”

“I really don’t give a shit what they want, Newt.”

Hermann offered his cigarette again, still holding Newt’s chin firmly in place. He leaned forward just enough to take a hit, keeping his eyes on Hermann’s the whole time. Hermann found himself mourning the loss of Newt’s thick glasses. Blood ran down his chin, down Hermann’s fingers, blooming venous red flowers onto Newt’s white shirt. Hermann held his gaze, stomach tightening in a delicious twist. Newt quirked his mouth in a cocky smirk, swirling the smoke around his tongue before letting it filter out. The pain in Hermann’s hand lessened as his brain redirected his blood flow elsewhere. Under the Precursor influence, Newt was behaving much more uninhibited, much darker, and Hermann’s mind conjured up images he’d gained and replayed endlessly since they had drifted years prior.

Newt, elbow deep in kaiju guts, lost in thought as he watched Hermann scribble formulas on his chalkboards. Newt, pushing up his glasses with bloody blue fingers to study his labmate more intently. Newt, paying too much attention to the little piece of chalk in Hermann’s fingers, wishing Hermann would pay attention to him the way he paid attention to his chalk. Newt, casually saying goodnight to his friend as he left the lab for the night, scrambling red faced and flushed up to his chalkboards as soon as Hermann had shut the door. Newt, running his hands over the formulas, smearing the chalk and breathing in the dust, breathing in _Hermann, God yes_ , and not giving a shit about the missing bits of equations he knew Hermann would ask him about tomorrow. Newt, hard as a rock, heart pounding and consumed by lust, leaning against his desk and feverishly stroking himself, the half dissected kaiju forgotten behind him. Newt, slamming his palm on the desk in frustration because _it’s not Hermann, it’s not good enough_ and he stops, crossing the lab to Hermann’s side and frantically pushing aside papers and printouts, until he finds a handwritten missive from last week that Newt had given back to him in the form of a paper airplane – _Newt, stop taking things from my side without gloves on, keep your filthy kaiju-loving hands to yourself_ – and comes, just like he’d done a hundred times with all of Hermann’s letters, groaning Hermann’s name a little too loudly and hoping nobody was around to hear. Newt, returning to his messy room to sleep and getting off again in the shower, come mixing with the blue blood swirling around the drain.

Hermann’s cheeks flushed at the thought. He watched Newt, the facsimile of Newt, and wondered if he was still capable of his own intentional thought; if he could still see the things Hermann had unconsciously shown him during the drift. Or maybe not as unconsciously as he assumed. He wanted Newt to see, wanted him to remember.

Hermann, fingering Newt’s lineup of scalpels with salacious thought, fully intending to slice through that stained white shirt to see how many tattoos he had that Hermann didn’t know about. And maybe, if Hermann was being completely honest with himself, nicking his friend’s skin in the process. Hermann, stopping dead in the middle of an equation to look at the tattooed expanse of Newt’s lower back when his shirt rode up as he stretched to reach inside a carcass. Hermann, giving an exhausted Newt a rather gentle kiss on the forehead one night after back to back autopsies, which turned into sloppy heated kisses on Newt’s desk. Hermann had sat on the edge of the desk and gotten blood on his sweater, which never washed out. Hermann, particularly worked up and irritable after an intense argument over drift mechanics with Newt’s stolen kaiju brain. They’d fucked angrily on Hermann’s desk, Newt pushing neat piles of research to the floor in a paper avalanche as he pushed into Hermann, over and over, continuing the argument the whole time, punctuating each thrust with another reason why he was right. Hermann’s leg ached the next day, but he was too buzzed on the lingering ecstasy to care much. An extra pain pill in the morning fixed him just fine.

“We know what you’re thinking, Herms. We know what’s going on in that delicate brain matter,” Newt whispered, pulling Hermann out of his reverie. His fingers suddenly burned and he dropped his cigarette, burnt down past the filter. Not-Newt smiled and relaxed, except for his fingers, which kept drumming out the beat to a song Hermann knew but couldn’t place. A song he knew Newt liked. The Precursors hadn’t taken that much away from him.

“Newt didn’t know you liked his tattoos so much. Not until the drift. Our drift,” he corrected, reminding Hermann they’d essentially had a mental threesome with a monster. “Maybe if you drifted with us again, we’d tell you more. Show you more.”

Hermann, heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest, jeans a little too tight for his liking, considered another cigarette. He fumbled blindly for his pack, not willing to tear his eyes away from Newt. He caught the edge of the box and tried to pull it out of his pocket, but it fell to the floor, scattering his cigarettes every which way. His mouth twisted in frustration, blood pressure rising. He gripped his cane uncomfortably hard.

Newt giggled. “You _really_ need to calm down, buddy. Don’t want you popping a vessel over little old me, **_you disgusting piece of white meat_** ,” the Precursors sneered, rising in Newt’s voice and fading out just as smoothly. Hermann, who had bent down painfully to retrieve the closest cigarette, _fuck this nonsense_ , abandoned it with a huff and shuffled over to the observational controls for the room Lambert had set up before they moved Newt in here. His leg protested, and Hermann’s frown deepened.

Newt craned his head around to watch. “Whatcha doin’ Herms?”

He sounded so normal that Hermann’s heart ached. He propped his cane against the worktable and proceeded to turn off the cameras and microphones. All the little red pins of light around the room died and some static pops crackled from the mics as they shut down. Hermann wasn’t sure if they were watching a live feed from in here. He hoped not. _They don’t need to listen to any of this. This is staying between us_. He wagered that he might have twenty minutes before someone came knocking. He took up his cane and crossed carefully over the wires running along the floor, coming to rest in front of Newt again. He let his cane drop next to the bench, putting his weight instead on the metal armrests.

“Why won’t you just tell me what I want to know, Newton?” he asked, leaning in until he was almost nose to nose with his former lab partner. His hands shook, unsure if it was from the sexual tension or fear, and he prayed Newt wouldn’t notice. “Just tell me you’re still in there.”

Newt tilted his head and pursed his cracked lips. “Why would I do that? There’s no fun in giving it up all at once.” He paused, tipping his head back and forth. Then he stopped dead, eyes hollow, glassy, fingers quiet. His slow, measured breathing puffed Hermann in the face. The Precursors were in the driver’s seat.

“ ** _Why did you turn off the cameras, Hermann? What are you planning?_** ”

Hermann allowed the shadow of smile to cross his features. “Are you scared now Newt? Or are they the ones who are scared?”

He sat still and mute. Thinking he had checked out for the day, Hermann snapped his fingers twice in front of Newt’s nose.

A sudden angry roar of unearthly horror rose up within him and he screamed, twisting in his restraints to try and break free. Hermann stumbled back a step, heart skittering wildly, grasping for purchase on Newt’s thighs as his knees hit the floor. Pain shot through his leg and pulsed through his hip. The leather straps holding Newt’s wrists creaked and a screw twisted loose from one end and rolled across the floor to join Hermann’s cigarettes, and Newt kept screaming, flecks of blood from his ruined throat striking Hermann in the face.

“ ** _Don’t fuck with us Hermann, you swine!_** ”

“ ** _We’ll destroy every one of you and remake this world in our image!_** ”

“ ** _You are nothing and you’ve always been nothing!_** ”

Newt stopped screaming and spit instead, blood landing right between Hermann’s eyes. Newt was feral, a man indeed possessed. Hermann, throwing caution out the door, decided he’d had enough.

He reached up and gripped Newt’s tie, wrapping it around his fist, silently thanking the Precursors for selecting a tie that, while garish in design, was at least durable enough to hold his weight. Newt’s spine and shoulders popped as Hermann pulled him down to his level.

Newton’s eyes burned with the Anteverse. “ ** _If you kill me now, you’ll learn nothing_** ,” they growled.

“I’m not afraid of your petty threats,” Hermann spat, pulling the silk knot tight against Newt’s throat. The gold embroidered kaiju details made him even angrier. Here was a genius man, who, through some mental gymnastics, decided repeatedly drifting with a monster was a great idea. Hermann harbored intense jealousy that the Precursors had taken Newt away from him. His mind supplied the image of Newt’s hand around his throat, choking the life out of him, _Hermann, they’re in my head_ , and Hermann found this all to be very cathartic and a little arousing. The danger of his plan backfiring was ever-present but Hermann could think of no other way of forcing the Precursors back just long enough to viscerally remind Newt he was still alive, somewhere in there.

Hermann pulled down with more pressure and pressed his forehead against Newt’s. “I’m not trying to kill you, Newt,” he breathed, smoothing his other hand reassuringly up Newt’s thigh. He was gasping in a hundred different voices, none of them human. Hermann could feel Newt’s neural spark flickering in his brain, trying to reestablish the link they’d shared for months after the drift. Newt never did really disappear in Hermann’s mind, he just became more and more muted over time until Hermann wondered if he had gone too far away for him to feel it anymore. The Precursors stole him away like that, bit by bit.

The cacophony of voices died away in Newt’s throat as he wheezed. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the smooth steel armrests. His neural signature pulsed brighter in Hermann’s mind. _Hermann . . . Herms please . . . it’s too much I can’t breathe . . ._

Hermann slid his free hand further up his partner’s thigh and felt the familiar weight of Newt’s cock pressing against his jeans, hard and already weeping, _just like old times_ , and held on to Newt’s tie a little tighter, feeling that nagging intuition returning, telling him not to stop just yet. Hermann brushed his lips against the corner of Newt’s bloody mouth and pressed down on his length, harder with the heel of his hand because he knew that was how Newt liked it. He felt the shiver that traveled up Newt’s spine, not sure if it was lust or the Precursors fighting to stay in control.

_Herms let go I need air_

_JESUS FUCK I can’t breathe_

_FUCK HERMANN PLEASE I CAN’T BREATHE LET GO_

Hermann opened his fist and the tie slipped through his fingers as Newt surged up, gasping, slamming the back of his head into the bench. His fingers searched blindly, arms upturned in the restraints, his tattoos bold and bright over flushed skin. Angry red welts were starting to rise up across his throat.  Hermann unbuckled the leather straps holding his wrists down and Newt immediately reached out trembling arms for him, bracketing his ribcage and hauling him up onto his lap with ease. Hermann felt a jolt of fear _and what if it didn’t work and this is how I’ll die_ and Newt responded _no it’s me Herms it’s me I swear I’m not them anymore._

Hermann’s leg screamed in agony but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Newt’s warmth as he pulled him tighter against his chest, broad tattooed arms holding him firm as Newt ground up into him, moaning brokenly into Hermann’s neck. Newt’s cock pulsed hard under Hermann’s thigh and he unconsciously rolled his hips forward, earning a breathy whine from his lab partner.

“I thought they’d never let me see you again,” he breathed. “Fuck’s sake, man, I almost killed you.”

Hermann slid his hand up the back of Newt’s neck and into his hair, _shorter than I remember,_ and pulled sharply, swallowing his moan as he kissed him hard, with teeth, Newt’s mouth tasting like hot copper. His neural signature flared bright and Newt moved his mouth more aggressively against Hermann’s, taking in his bottom lip and biting down, a chorus of _fuck yes, dude_ reverberating in Hermann’s headspace. Hermann could feel the tension and adrenaline flow off Newt in waves as he breathed raggedly, like a man drowning. Newt arched his back and pulled Hermann’s hips more flush to him, moving his mouth down to Hermann’s neck. He paused for a fraction of second when he nosed over the bruised finger marks, his own damage, before laving his tongue over them, _I’m so sorry Herm I couldn’t make them stop,_ and sucking the purple skin into his mouth. Newt’s neural feedback made Hermann’s blood feel positively electric, overpowering heady lust coursing through him. _Negative consequences of ghost drifting be damned_ he thinks briefly, lost in the sensation of Newt taking his own pleasure from Hermann’s body.

“They wouldn’t let me feel anything, Herms, not a fucking thing,” he mumbled, lips tight against Hermann’s throat. “Like being anesthetized for years, man, I almost forgot what this was like.”

 Hermann moved his hands down to Newt’s chest, feeling all the buttons on his shirt, _too much fucking work,_ and ripping it open, listening to the buttons roll across the lab floor with amusement and a sharp stab of need. He pushed Newt’s shirt and jacket down his arms and threw them blindly behind him, feeling Newt laugh openly against his collarbone. The tattoos were what he was after, his beautiful second skin, Newt chiming in with a giggle that turned into a growl as Hermann dragged his nails down his chest, feeling the slightly embossed lines rising from his skin like colorful Braille.

“Hermann, I need some fucking help here,” Newt whimpered desperately, rocking his hips up.

He leaned back just enough to take in the sight of Newt, poor Newt, eyes dark and hungry, head tilted back against the bench, lips kiss-bruised and bloody, breaths coming in harsh spasms. _Please. Like we used to, just like we fucking did it back then._ Hermann obliged, covering Newt’s throat with his hand, pressing hard into the arteries. He felt Newt’s breath hitch, eyes fluttering shut, his cock growing impossibly harder. His heartbeat thrummed beneath Hermann’s fingers.

Newt took in a slow breath and let it pass through his nose, quietly admonishing, “Don’t kill me, Herms.”

Hermann got a hand down between them and fumbled with the zipper to Newt’s _ridiculously expensive_ jeans. _Designer, you asshole_ came the indignant reply, and Hermann none too gently wrested Newt’s cock from his jeans, savoring the hot weight in his hand. He ran his fingers down the length and wrapped his fist around it, _little bit tighter, please_ , smoothed his thumb over the weeping head, appreciating the dual feedback. Hermann had never been quite so hard in his life, and certainly nowhere close in the last ten years that Newt had been gone. In chasing Newt’s release, he chased his own. He was sure no data existed on the sexual effects of ghost drifting but resolved to do more experiments. He felt Newt’s confirmation on the matter, _study that shit every fucking day, man_.

Hermann tightened his grip and stroked shallowly, squeezing his other hand incrementally harder on Newt’s throat. Newt’s hands came up and rested on Hermann’s wrist. Newt rolled his hips, silently begging for more.  Hermann remembered the days when they’d take their time to do this, but considering their current predicament decided to forego the niceties. He jerked Newt forward a little, pulling until his forehead rested against Hermann’s shoulder. Hermann settled his cheek against Newt’s head, their arms tangled together between them. Hermann’s eyes traveled across the bright reds and golds running down Newt’s back, _not sure how I ever thought they were ugly_ , as he twisted his wrist on Newt’s cock, just this side of too rough. Hermann felt Newt’s heart racing as he stroked faster, little whines escaping his nose. His chest spasmed, lungs desperately seeking air. He was too far gone for words and Hermann was sure if he pulled back to look at him his lips would be turning blue. Hermann felt Newt’s desperation like it was his own, his heart pounding to match the wild rhythm in his lab partner’s chest. Newt’s grip tightened and he tapped his fingers on Hermann’s wrist. _Give me like three seconds, no more than that._ Hermann let out a shaky breath and nodded his cheek against Newt’s head, and he felt Newt go limp, hands dropping into his lap. His weight sagged against Hermann’s shoulder. Newt’s neural activity was suddenly silent.

Hermann was grateful for the increased workload that had kept him in shape; he wasn’t sure if he could support Newt’s body like this without toppling backward onto the floor otherwise. His bad leg remained quiet, greatly overshadowed by the hard weight of his dick, pressing insistently and painfully into his jeans. Three seconds felt like an eternity and his fingers ached with the strain of maintaining a constant pressure against Newt’s throat. Hermann’s hand was flattened against the base of Newt’s cock, strained and purple and angry looking. His fingers twitched against the skin impatiently. Long ago, Hermann had loved these moments the most, where Newt was quiet and calm, still as death.

Hermann gently released Newt’s throat and splayed his fingers against the back of his head, burying them in his dark hair. He felt Newt’s chest begin to expand and he twisted his wrist up, ghosting his thumb over the head, holding his cock tight. Newt raised his head an inch and took in his first unsteady breath and it punched back out in a painful sob against Hermann’s neck, hips violently jerking forward, fucking up into Hermann’s fist as he came. The heady sensation of oxygen hitting Newt’s brain transferred to Hermann, and Hermann lost it, a painful whine ripping from his throat as his orgasm traveled through him. _Oh Newt, what did I ever do without you._ He felt a disjointed set of thoughts flit through his head and isn’t sure whose is whose - _I never want to lose you again, don’t let them leave me down here, I’ll never forgive them for what they did_ – and then Newt’s mouth is on him, that copper taste grounding him in reality, pulling him back.  

Newt’s hands shook as they slipped underneath Hermann’s sweater and pulled him closer. His hands were cold against the overheated skin of Hermann’s back. Newt pulled back enough to look Hermann in the eyes. They’re bloodshot, weary, but very much Newt, Hermann observed thankfully.  “I can’t feel them anymore,” he says, his breathing evening out. His hands settle on Hermann’s thighs. “They made me forget so much shit, Hermann. Like it wasn’t even me anymore. They ruined my image, man.”

Hermann tucked him back into his jeans, _you’re babying me Hermann, stop it,_ and wearily pressed his forehead against Newt’s. “I turned off all the cameras and I’m sure they’ll be coming, with guns probably, to find out why,” he whispers, relishing the last few moments of quiet and warmth from Newt’s body. “I feel its best they don’t find us like this.”

Hermann extricated himself from Newt with some difficulty due to his leg, rolling into the empty space on the bench next to him. He rested his elbows on his knees, and realized his cigarettes were still scattered all over the floor. He reached down with shaking fingers to pick one up, the pain in his leg becoming more and more apparent. Newt bent over to retrieve his shirt and jacket, disregarding all the blood, and shrugged on the shirt, forgoing the jacket in favor of leaning back against the bench. Hermann pulled out his lighter and made an attempt at holding the flame steady, failing spectacularly until Newt took pity and leaned over, taking the lighter from him and holding it firm.

Hermann took a long inhale and felt the blissful tingle of nicotine spread through him. He handed it to Newt, who did the same, and they sat there sharing the same cigarette until Pentecost finally came to investigate, all but blasting through the door, with Lambert and a handful of jaeger pilots in tow. His mouth was open like he was ready to say something vaguely authoritative, hand resting on a gun at his hip, but stopped short as he took in the scene before him.

Hermann supposed it was indeed a sight. Newt, hair tousled, shirt opened, out of the restraints, blood drying almost everywhere on his body, dark bruises forming around his neck. Long legs stretched out in front of him, a cigarette burning away between his fingers. Their shoulders brushed each other on their shared armrest. Hermann extended his bad leg, flexing the muscle as he watched Pentecost grow more and more confused.

Brow furrowed, his eyes flicked back and forth between them. “That really him, Doc?” he asked, pointing at Newt with some degree of disbelief. Lambert came up behind him and stood at his shoulder, forever the watchdog.

Hermann nodded, plucking the cigarette from Newt’s hand. He bent down for another, and used the first one to light the next. Inhaling deeply, he said, “This is indeed Dr. Newton Geiszler, and I swear to Christ if you shoot him, you’ll never hear the end of it. So put your guns away before you do something foolish.”

Pentecost shook his head. “I honestly thought we’d have to put him down. I really have no idea how you did it,” he laughed, rather impressed. “Job well done.”

Newt cleared his throat. “Hermann really knows how to get into people, you know? You never should have doubted him,” he said, smiling. His voice was absolutely wrecked, Hermann observed. _Sorry, not sorry._ Newt’s eyes flicked over to him. _Don’t be sorry; best orgasm ever, dude._

Hermann passed him his cigarette as Pentecost and his band of misfit avengers traipsed back out of the lab. Newt slouched down on the bench, smoke drifting up over his head. He reached over and laid a hand on Hermann’s knee, squeezing gently.

“I’m glad you came back for me, man.”

Hermann settled his hand over Newt’s. “I’m glad there was something to come back for.”

“They’re gonna want to talk to me. Like, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Newt whines, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “All I want to do is sleep. You never realize how much you miss sleep until something puts you in the backseat and keeps you awake for days and days.”

Hermann dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. He retrieved his cane and stood, a little unsteady, and extended his hand to Newt. “Pentecost can wait. I’ll cover for you, don’t worry,” he says, hauling Newt to his feet.

“Can I sleep in your bed, Herms?”

“Considering yours probably doesn’t exist anymore, I don’t think you have a choice. I also wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
